


You Are My Everything

by ablondeweasley



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Cuban Lance (Voltron), Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Homelessness, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-14 23:51:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10546460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ablondeweasley/pseuds/ablondeweasley
Summary: Keith was used to being alone. He ran away from an alcoholic father in 5th grade to live in a back alley with cardboard boxes and newspapers for a bed. He had never been good with school, or people, for that matter; he was good at disappearing, and the only people who really talked to him were bullies and teachers who didn't really care. School for him was an escape, a distraction, from his moldy "bed" and the insects that crawled out of the old bricks. Though hunger and the cold were old friends, and Keith got picked on at school, pulled the fire alarm and ended up in the principal's office at least once a week, he still had hope.And everything changed, his hope made real, with Lance. Lance was popular, and loved by everyone, students, teachers, his family, and even the sun: he was tan, rosy cheeked and lightly freckled to show it. Lance had everything Keith didn't, and he was more than happy to share.AU where Keith and Lance are childhood friends, and turn into something more as Lance literally turns Keith's life around.





	1. Bright Smiles and Blue Raspberry Lollipops

Keith had run away during the summer of fifth grade.  
His new home was the collection of old newspapers and moldy cardboard boxes in a back alley off of 6th street. It was hard, if Keith was honest, but only a little harder than before.  
His clothes had always been unwashed and ripped; he was used to that. The empty gnawing in his stomach he was used too, too; hunger was an old friend of his. The freezing rain that glowed in the light of the yellow, swollen moon he was not used too, nor the blue tinge to his skin and ever-ending shivering that came with it, but he got through it. The darkness and the smell was new too, and although the alley cats and the insects that crawled out of the old, moss-colored brick were startling and scary at night, he got through it all.  
And no one went looking for Keith, no one even cared.  
He kept going to school, though, he wasn’t sure why. Maybe for the normalcy, maybe for warmth, maybe for the cartons of orange juice and the packets of lunch that were unidentifiable but filling that he collected at lunch and ate for dinner, and later, breakfast. Maybe just for something to do all day, instead of sitting in his self-pity and desperately playing The Game.  
Keith was an expert at The Game, which involved pretending. Keith pretended that the collection of boxes and newspapers were a mattress and down-comforters. He pretended that his stomach was full, and of cookies and spaghetti and meatballs at that. He pretended that the crumbling brick around him was the wall of his bedroom, and the graffiti and just general nastiness decorating it was wall hangings and photographs. He pretended that he wasn’t lonely, wasn’t cold, and most of all, he pretended that he was happy.  
Keith couldn’t really remember being happy, in fact, he wasn’t sure that he’d felt it until Lance.  
Lance came into his life two weeks after Keith ran away, and, unlike everyone else in Keith’s life who had always been like Velcro: ripping off and out easily, and attaching to him less and less as time passed, Lance had stayed. Keith remembered the day he met Lance well:  
It had been a normal day in a normal week, the dizzying waves of heat shining like oil spills on the pavement on the horizon. The scrape of his too-big, old Chuck Taylors, the laces ratty and too long. The teachers that pretended to care, the school counselor with the pamphlet Keith had already read two years ago, and the other kids who stole his lunch money. Only a couple scrapes, though quite a few bruises blooming on his shins and upper arms, two shining on the mountains and valleys of his ribs. He’d pulled the fire alarm twice already that week, and had gotten sent to the principal after pick-pocketing his lunch money back, but all of that was normal, too.  
And then there was Lance.  
Keith had seen him and admired Lance before, from a distance, the way one does a toy in a window with hands and face pressed up against the glass eagerly. But being a foster kid, Keith had never, ever gotten that toy, and he knew the metaphorical glass between him and Lance would stay there forever. Because Lance wasn’t like Keith at all.  
Lance was tall, smiley, and loved by everyone and everything around him, even the sun and the sky: he was tan, rosy cheeked and lightly freckled to show it. Lance had a large family, with a smiling mom who picked him up after school, and lots of younger brothers and sisters that came up and hugged him a recess, and unlike most big brothers, Lance hugged them back. Lance had a whole classroom full of boys who always picked him first in games and asked him for help on their times tables. Lance had the teacher laughing at his jokes, and hanging his art up on the walls.  
Lance...Lance was really there, with his loud laugh, and his many friends, and the teachers who smiled at his and sometimes gave him sticky lollipops that stained his smile blue, and his family, and his schoolwork hung up on the walls, and no one could forget about him. Unlike Keith, who no one ever talked to except to discipline him or try and pick fights with him, and who was able to literally disappear.  
But then everything changed.  
The lunch bell had just wrung a couple minutes ago, and Keith had his hand up to shield his eyes from the glaring sun, trying to avoid the kids who usually tried to pester him, when he heard a-  
“Hey!”  
Keith blinked slowly, and turned around, just in case. Whoever it was probably wasn’t calling to him, but…  
“Hey, you! Keith, right?”  
But they were.  
None other but Lance McClain was ambling towards him, eyes shining and smile on full-blast. Keith was suddenly very overwhelmed.  
Lance McClain knew his name.  
Lance stopped right in front of Keith, and stuck out his hand. Keith had never been this close to him before. He smelled like laundry detergent and chili powder, with a tinge of the fake sweetness of his blue raspberry suckers. Keith looked down at his hand, then up (Lance was two whole inches taller than him) at his smiling face.  
“You’re supposed to shake it, you know.” Lance’s smile widened, if that was even possible. “I’m Lance.”  
Keith awkwardly shook Lance’s hand, hard and fast, and replied stupidly, “I know.”  
Lance just cocked an eyebrow at that, and Keith’s face erupted into flames as he mentally slapped himself, stupid, stupid, stupid.  
But Lance just continued, “I’ve seen you in P.E. You’re pretty fast. Wanna race?”  
Lance had noticed him in P.E. He wanted to race with Keith.  
Lance had noticed him.  
Keith made a split-second decision, unable to oppress his shock and delight and aching hope of being seen for the first time, and by this smiling, popular, irresistible boy no less, “Sure.”  
“Great!” Lance exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air enthusiastically, “To the tree. Ready, set, go!”


	2. Yellow Houses and Warm Hearts

From that day on, Keith no longer sat at lunch alone anymore. The space around him at his lunch table that was usually taken up by his ten-year old backpack and discarded red jacket had been filled by Lance and his friends.  
It had been very overwhelming at first, and to be honest, still was. Since Lance had caught Keith sneaking juice cartons and other snacks from the incline into his pockets, he’d been sharing his home-cooked lunches with no questions asked, despite many protests from Keith. Lance had also introduced Keith to almost all of his siblings, not to mention all of his friends, the ones sitting with them an otherwise. Sitting across from them was Hunk, who was large and friendly and very careful, and always gave worrying looks that Keith hated to all of the scrapes and bruises. Hunk also gave strong hugs, spontaneous and often, which was shocking at first but now very nice. Both Hunk and Lance were very affectionate, and Keith oftentimes found himself pulled into group hugs, or with one of Lance’s arms slung over his shoulder or around his waist.  
On Keith’s left was Pidge, who was small (smaller than Keith) and very scary. She was very smart, and snapped at the teacher anytime he called her “Katie,” and was often tinkering with the clocks and other devices around the school. She had been delighted to find that Keith had been the one pulling the fire alarm a lot of the time, and had in return confessed to him that the other times she had set them off while tinkering.  
School had gotten so much better with Lance around. The bullies left him alone. The teachers talked to him more, asking him questions in class, and even once complimenting his art.  
Though Keith desperately avoided questions about his home life, or the way his homework was turned in (sometimes with splotches of cat urine of bird poop or just generally dirty), it was nice to have someone actually care.  
They all played at recess together, and a couple of days ago Lance had given him one of his blue suckers. (Which Keith didn’t eat, just kept in his pocket where it still was today, and took it out at night to help him get through the cold and the dark. Now that Keith had experienced the real things: home cooked meals and friends surrounding him with smiles and jokes, it made The Game both so much harder, yet a lot better. Instead of pretending, Keith just called up Lance’s smile, and was normally able to get to sleep a lot better.)  
But then, when everything was going well, Lance invited Keith over to his house.  
It was after school, while Keith waited with Lance for his mom to pick him up, when, as Lance’s mom’s tan mini-van showed up, Lance had popped the question casually, “Hey, d’ya wanna come over?”  
Keith’s eyes had bugged out in obvious shock, a flush blooming across his cheeks.  
Lance laughed, “Just to do homework and hang out, maybe eat dinner! You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”  
Oh, Keith wanted to. Very badly. He just felt like he couldn’t, shouldn’t, come over to Lance’s house, full of love and family, and warmth. God, then Lance would be able to tell. He would see Keith, dirty Keith with his ribs poking out of his shirt and his desperate need of a haircut, juxtaposed against Lance’s stable, loving home, and he would be able to tell.  
Lance’s mom honked. “Vamos, Lance!”  
Lance nudged Keith with his elbow, adjusting the straps of his backpack, and looking down at him with those blue, blue eyes. “I gotta go, man. Are you coming or not?”  
Keith’s heart raced. Screw it.  
“Yeah I am,” he swallowed, “if that’s okay?”  
Lance gave him a slow smile, and Keith’s stomach nearly tied itself into knots. “C’mon, then.”

***

“Mama, this is Keith. Can he come over for dinner?”  
Lance’s mom looked just like him: same smile, same eyes, and she leaned out the car window earnestly. “Oh, so this is Keith. I was wondering when I was going to meet him.”  
Lance flushed.  
Lance had told his mom about Keith.  
Keith wondered what Lance had said.  
Lance’s mom continued in that teasing tone, “‘Mama, Keith is so fast! Guess what Keith did today, Mama!-’”  
“Stop it, Mama!” Lance’s flush had darkened, “can he come over or not?”  
Lance’s mom’s eyes twinkled, “of course.”  
Keith hopped into the backseat after Lance, then sat sandwiched between Lance and one of Lance’s sisters (Sofia?). His whole body thrummed with nervous energy, his stomach pulled taut with a feeling of-keith didn’t know what.  
He couldn’t stop thinking about how Lance had been apparently gushed to his mom all about Keith. Keith was stuck in a cycle of flushing, his cheeks permanently hot, getting hotter each time the car was jostled and Lance was pressed closer against him or bumped into him.  
“I’m Rosa, Keith.” Lance’s mom said, her eyes meeting his kindly in the rearview mirror. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”  
“Nice to meet you too,” Keith croaked out, breaking eye contact with Rosa after a split second of awkwardness. (Well, awkwardness for Keith.)  
The car ride was pretty quiet, Lance being uncharacteristically silent and Keith being Keith, until they pulled up in front of a pale yellow house with a green long and tulips in large window boxes, the roof shingled and the sidewalk in front covered in colorful chalk drawings. It was beautiful.  
“Welcome to our humble abode, Keith.” Rosa said with Lance’s smile, hopping out of the car and helping two of the younger kids out of the very back. Sofia hopped out too, letting Keith out, and Lance grabbed their backpacks from out of the trunk.  
“Nuestro casa es tu casa,” Rosa told him with a three year old on her hip as she unlocked the front door, and Keith followed Lance and the parade of other children into the house.


	3. Tacos and Desperation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! We've got the premise all set up now, and the fun can begin!

It was almost unbearable to walk into the house. The walls were white and covered with smiling family photographs. The living room was full of overstuffed chairs and a large T.V. The kitchen was small, but delicious smells were emanating from it, and Keith excitedly remembered all the meals Lance had stubbornly shared with him, mouth watering. Lance showed him his bedroom, which he shared with his younger brother Enriquez, and then they went back downstairs to the dining room table to get started on their homework.  
Rosa brought in two glasses of milk and oatmeal raisin cookies.  
Lance told jokes and helped Keith with his math homework.   
The younger children stampeded through the house in circles, giggling and covered in grass stains from the backyard.  
And Keith was slowly dying.  
It started with an ache of not-belonging, then doubled with loneliness as he watched the family interact and sank deeper into his chair. It tripled with the gut-wrenching smiles Lance kept flashing him as he joked around and gently reminded Keith to multiply by the reciprocal, not the original fraction. And it nearly finished Keith off, leaving him shaking in his chair, when Rosa called them for dinner.  
Everything was too bright, too happy, and Keith needed to get back to his alley and cardboard boxes and reality right then, or he’d never be able to go back.  
But Rosa and Lance both made him finish his delicious tacos before he could leave the table, and there was no chance for him to quietly grab his bag and slip out the backdoor.  
Before he knew it, dinner was over, and Rosa was asking Keith whether his parents were coming to get him or if she should drop him off.  
Oh, shit.  
Keith stammered at the question, and Lance turned to give a look, and then Rosa was frowning worriedly.  
“They do know you’re here, right?”  
“Oh, yeah,” Keith tried to say off-handedly, looking down at his plate. But Keith was a bad liar, and Rosa was perceptive mother.  
“What’s their number? Let me call them right now.”  
Keith’s plucked desperately at a hole in the knee of his jeans. He needed to get out of here now.  
“We, uh, don’t have a phone.” Keith swallowed, eyes still fixated on his plate.  
Run, run, run.  
Rosa crossed her arms. “How should I get in contact with them?”  
Lance looked very pale.  
“I’ll just go now.” Keith said, scooting out of his chair and making a beeline for his bag.  
“Keith, wait!” Lance called after him, and Rosa was suddenly in the doorway.  
“Keith, is everything alright at home?” She asked, firmly but gently, squatting down to his level.  
Run, run, run.  
“Y-yeah.”  
“Are you sure?”  
Keith gulped.  
“Who do you live with?”  
“My, uh, dad.”  
“Where is he now?”  
“Uh, working?”  
“Where do you live?”  
“By, uh, 6th street?”  
Rosa looked scary. “Let me drive you home now, then. Lance, ves a sus hermanos.”  
Lance’s knuckles were white as he grips the edge of the table, and he nodded solemnly. The younger children are silent.  
Run, run, run.  
But Rosa didn’t give Keith a chance to make an escape. She had him sit in the passenger’s seat, watching him out of the corner of her eye the whole time, as Keith shakily directed her to an apartment building by the alley he was living in.  
She pulled up in front of the building, and walked Keith over to the entrance. “I’ll wait until you get inside,” she said, “or better yet, I’d like to walk you to your front door.”  
Keith’s heart was pounding in his chest, and he was fucked.  
He played around with the buzzer, pretending like he knew the key code to get in, but the machine kept beeping after every four numbers Keith punched in.  
Each time the buzzer went off, Rosa’s frown deepened. Keith was about to start crying, the desperation burning through his lungs and up into his throat, almost making him gag and leaving the bitter taste of cilantro in his mouth.  
“Keith, stop.” Rosa grabbed his wrist gently after the sixth combination. Keith became boneless, sagging against the buzzer and refusing to look Rosa in the eye.  
“Do you… where do you live, Keith?”  
Keith was too tired, bone-deep exhausted, to lie anymore, and Rosa would probably see through it anyway. “In the alley over there.” Keith gestured reluctantly to the end of the block.  
Rosa’s eyes widened.  
“You live alone.” She asked, but it was more of a statement than a question.   
Keith’s eyes burned, and then it all came tumbling out along with a rush of tears.  
“My-my father drank a lot. He stopped working last year, and we were about to be evicted from our apartment building. We didn’t have any m-money, and then a month ago he didn’t... come home. I waited a week, and he didn’t come back. I came home after school to find the eviction notice on the door, and so I live in the alley now. It’s… not too bad.”  
Keith braced himself. He had no idea what was coming. And then he felt warm, strong arms envelop him.  
“You’re going to live with us for now, Keith. You’re not ever going back to that alley.”


	4. Wild, Beautiful, And Broken

Lance was tucking Sofia into bed when Keith and his mother came back home.  
Lance wasn’t surprised. Ever since he’s caught Keith stuffing his pockets with food from the lunch line he’d suspected. Tie it in with the reluctance to talk about his home life, the dirty, ripped, not-quite fitting clothing he wore every day, and Lance had already put two and two together before his mom announced that Keith was going to be staying with them for a little while.   
Keith looked much smaller than usual in the warm darkness of Lance’s bedroom, and Lance’s heart ached.  
“You can have my bed, bud. This is gonna be so great! It’s gonna be like an endless sleepover!”   
Keith looked up at that, tugging at the hem of his shirt, and gave Lance a wobbly smile. Lance nearly broke in two.  
He busied himself with quietly pulling out pajamas for the two of them.  
He wasn’t sure what had drawn him to Keith. Maybe it was Keith’s eyes: large and somehow empty. Maybe it was the hair falling in his eyes, the quiet restlessness that he oozed, or the reputation he had.  
“He pulls the fire alarm like every week,” the whispers said, “he goes to the principal's office every day.”  
Despite everything that seemed to be against him, Keith excelled. He was the fastest in the whole school, and Lance though Lance had heard the teachers whispering about Keith’s, “troubled home life,” and, “counseling needed,” he’d also heard about Keith’s unnaturally high score on the SAT’s.  
Lance was split between sympathy and awe for Keith Kogane, and something about Keith made him reluctant to approach him, though he desperately wanted to. Something about Keith’s thin frame and long eyelashes beneath furrowed eyebrows made Lance’s heart pound.  
Something about Keith Kogane made Lance want to be his best friend.

***

Lance slept uneasily that night, and it wasn’t just because he was on the floor.  
He was hot, and cold, and couldn’t stop peering over his shoulder at the boy curled up at his back.  
He knew he was “as stubborn as a mule” and “just like his mother” but he hadn’t known Keith was just as stubborn, too. He should’ve expected it really, but here they were: both refusing to take the bed from the other, so curled up back to back on the hardwood floor in a pile of blankets.  
His mom had laughed as she’d said goodnight to the both of them, but he’d heard the worry in it.

***

Keith fit in quite well with the family. He wasn’t very good with younger kids, uncomfortable and unsure around Enrique and Sofia, but he let Sofia put crowns on his head and drank imaginary tea with her and raced Enrique down the block, sometimes pulling him in the wagon. Watching Keith really try with his younger siblings made Lance feel entirely shaken, but in a good way. And Keith tried really hard to help around the house and just make people feel better in general. Lance soon figured out that Keith’s nervous rambling and terrible jokes were honest attempts at making someone feel better, that Keith not eating his dinner on a Thursday or Friday wasn’t him being difficult but trying to save more for the others when he knew they were almost out of groceries. (Since grocery shopping was on Saturday.) It took a couple weeks, but soon Lance was an expert in all things Keith Kogane.  
He knew to never press or ask questions about his home life. He knew that Keith was naturally pale, his arms and chest as pale and fragile-looking as china. He knew that Keith got sunburned easily, the tips of his ears, nose and shoulders taking on a slightly painful flush. He knew that Keith liked his hair long, and occasionally wore it in a ponytail. (Which had made Lance’s stomach do a complicated gymnastics routine the first time he saw it.) (Keith could also never keep track of the hair scrunchies Rosa gave him, so Lance would occasionally steal some from Sofia for Keith.) Lance knew that Keith was an incredible artist, and sometimes would find Keith perched on Lance’s pillow, gazing out the window drawing, the swollen moon outside making both Keith and his sketchpad glow. Lance knew that Keith pushed himself to be the best at everything, and to keep Keith from tearing himself apart, sometimes Lance went a little easier himself so Keith did too. Lance knew that Keith liked all things spicy, and always passed Keith the hot sauce first at dinner. It went on everything: enchiladas, tacos, burritos, chimichangas, even nachos. Lance knew that the only possession of Keith’s limited supply that really mattered was the tattered, too-big biker jacket. Lance also knew to never ask about that.  
Lance knew that Keith’s gray-purple eyes turned a liquid black when he was angry, and violent when he laughed. (Lance really liked making Keith laugh; Keith’s nose scrunched up in a way that made Lance’s chest feel too small and too tight.)  
Lance knew well how to handle Keith’s nightmares.  
The first time it had happened, Lance had woken up suddenly to find Keith’s thinly-clothed back pressed against Lance’s cold, sweaty, and shaking. Lance turned over, worried by the small mewling noises and the shaky breaths Keith took that rattled his small frame. Lance had also been especially worried by the panicked, “no, please”s Keith was making, so he gently slid a hand underneath Keith’s head, and another under his friend’s back, pulling Keith into his lap.  
With Lance rubbing small circles on Keith’s back, Keith had woken up slowly and shakily, his eyes wide and panicked.  
“Lance, Lance-”  
“Shh, I’m here,” Lance had continued to rub Keith’s back, trying to find the correct balance between keeping Keith quiet (so as to not wake up Enriquez), and comforting Keith without making him feel pitied or weak.  
It was from the nightmares that Lance learned that, though Keith didn’t like to initiate physical contact, he liked to touch and be touched. Lance tried to make his arm always available to Keith, never complaining when Keith grabbed fistfuls of Lance’s shirt or jacket desperately.  
And Lance knew most of all that, though Keith seemed standoffish at the beginning, like a frightened wild animal, Keith was soft and warm and shone so brightly that Lance never understood why there wasn’t a long line of people clamoring for Keith, begging to be friends or even to just get Keith’s autograph. Keith was fucking amazing, and like all wild animals were, needed to be protected. Like the lady who had come to present to their class just last week had said, the main objective of wildlife conservation is to make sure that the animals and their habitats will be preserved so that the future generations of both wildlife and humans can enjoy it. Lance had just nodded then, looking at the picture of the cute baby foxes. But now he realized just how beautiful something wild could be.


	5. Oak Trees and Crumpled Purple Beanies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shortness (if that's even a word) of this chapter! And also warning: offensive and possibly hurtful language.

Everything was going well until Sendak showed up.  
It wasn’t like Sendak wasn’t there before, he just had never really bothered Lance.   
But now, with Hunk and Pidge inside finishing their Science Project (nerds) and Keith kicking everyone’s ass in wall ball on the other end of the playground (Lance was really glad that other people were finally noticing Keith’s awesomeness), Sendak sauntered up to Lance in the Oak Grove, knowing full well that Lance had practically nowhere to run too and that the teacher on yard duty wouldn’t be able to see through the thick branches of the small grove of trees.  
The Oak Grove, a small collection of Oak trees, wooden benches, and thick grass, was where crush confessions, most fights, and all things not wanting teacher supervision or a large audience. It was pretty, and a place to go when you wanted to be alone, but Lance should’ve known better.  
As to why he’d wanted to be alone in the first place, Lance wasn't sure.  
But none of that mattered when Koby Sendak came along with an eyebrow cocked and nose in the air.  
“Well, well, well, McClain. It’s been a while.”  
Lance straightened his legs out in front of him. He was okay in a fight, but everyone knew he’d rather not get in trouble. And Sendak was much bigger than him, equaled in size only by Hunk.  
Who wasn’t here right now, goddamn it.  
“Yes, it, has. And I’m not particularly in the mood for a catch-up, Sendak.” What was it they said about wolves and dogs? Look them in the eye to show you’re not afraid, or look down to avoid a fight? Lance didn’t want to seem scared, because that would definitely earn him a smack, but he didn’t want to seem cocky, ‘cause so would that.  
“Well I’m not particularly in the mood for the romance between you and your faggot.”  
What did he just say?  
“Excuse me?” Lance stood up, grateful for his height now more than ever.  
“You heard me,” Sendak grinned, adjusting his trademark purple beanie. “And where is your faggot now, faggot?”  
He was talking about Keith.  
He called us “faggots.”  
Lance’s vision went red, and he swung.  
He'd never started a fight before. Never. He wasn’t sure what had changed.  
There was a stomach-churning crunch, accompanied with sharp warmth, and pain.   
Lance pulled his hand back in shock, not expecting the throbbing in his fingers or the thick, hot blood that dripped down his forearm. Sendak was just as shocked, cupping his nose, tears streaming down his face and mingling with blood to create a pinkish, runny liquid that dribbles onto the bench.  
Fuck.  
Then Sendak was on top of him, his fist slamming into contact with Lance’s temple, Lance’s ribs, Lance’s mouth-agony. Lance’s eyebrow was slashed open, sending a gush running down his face, blinding his eye, and filling his mouth with the sharp, metallic taste of his own blood. The heat, the pain in his ribs, sent him nearly gagging.   
Some part of him realized how weak he must look, curled up on the ground with Sendak straddling him and pounding him as Lance cried.  
Lance heard a sickening snap before he felt it. His arm was twisted in a way that looks wrong, and felt so wrong. He was unable to hold back his scream.  
And then it all stopped.  
It was a blur of pain and motion.  
Sendak was off of him, and Lance could breathe, and someone was screaming. A purple beanie lay dirty and scrunched up in the corner of Lance’s vision, and he heard someone yell for a teacher.  
And then Keith was above him, eyes blazing, extending a hand with bleeding knuckles to help Lance up.  
Through the haze of pain and confusion, and anger, Lance registered a bruise blooming across Keith’s cheekbone, and how he had never, ever seen Keith look this angry.  
He’d never, ever, seen Keith be this gentle before, not even with Sofia, and hed never realized how strong Keith was until Lance was being half-carried, half-dragged to the nurse’s office.  
Lance’s head was on Keith’s shoulder, his eyes blurrily fixated on Keith’s mullet, and he had never realized that Keith smelled like apples and home.


	6. White Dreams and Pain Meds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's really short too, sorry! And we'll be switching back to Keith's POV sooooooon!

When Lance blinked awake, everything was bright and too-loud. There wa a constant pinging that rattled in his ears. There was a sharp prick in his left arm, and his right arm was aching, hot, and immovable. He was wrapped in white, his arm in a white cast, sunshine was streaming through white curtains, and there were two people sitting in white chairs next to him.  
Fuck. He was in the hospital.  
Fuck. His mom was here.  
“Hello?” he croaked. And one of the hospital chairs squeaked as Keith sat up, because he had been slumped and asleep next to Lance’s mom. Keith leaned in close, his dark hair like a spill of ink against the white parchment of the hospital.  
“Lance.” He said, his eyes a dark purple and rimmed in dark purple: he looked like he hadn’t slept for a while. There was an ugly bruise on his cheekbone, also purple, and Lance let out a gurgling laugh at all of it, “you match.”  
Keith’s eyebrows furrowed. “You’re on pain meds, Lance, so I’m not gonna even try to understand you.”  
So that explained the tingling warmth that was seeping through him, like when your foot is about to fall asleep, before the tingling gets painful.   
“How are you feeling?” Keith asked quietly.  
“Amazing!” Lance told him, and then Keith seemed to snap.  
“You fucking idiot!”  
Lance’s mom stirred and Keith got quieter, but all of the anger was still present. “What the hell were you thinking? You never get into fights-that’s my job!”  
Lance felt himself melting into the hospital bed, sinking further and further.   
“Why’d you do it?” Keith’s hands clenched and unclenched in his lap.  
“He-he called us faggots,” Lance whispered, reaching out for Keith's hand. The knuckles were scabbed and bruised, but Lance grabbed onto it before it can clench again and held on as gently and firmly as he can. He’d forgotten how small Keith’s hands are-and artist’s hands at that. Long, thin, and elegant fingers not meant for fighting, pale and contrasting against Lance’s tan skin. Keith let out a shaky breath, and he seemed flushed now. Everything seemed far away, even though Keith was right there. It was probably from the pain meds.  
“Jesus, Lance.”  
They were both quiet.  
“You’re okay, Lance.” But Keith said it like a question. He was inching closer, too. “And we’re-we’re okay, right? We’re not…”  
Lance had no idea what Keith was talking about. He was just breathing in Keith’s scent and closeness, drifting into darkness, and the last thing he saw before he fell asleep was Keith’s worried eyes.


End file.
